“My sweet Delia,” he said. “We—Jerome, you, and I and all our friends represent a losing or a lost cause—”
“A rightful one,” she put in.
“Certainly,” he smiled, “but unfortunately at the present, a lost one—we are, my dear, without the law—in plain English, Jacobite spies dabbling in high treason—I want you to understand that, Delia.”
His voice fell to gravity on the last words, but the girl bit her lip and tapped her foot impatiently.
“While we have King James’s countenance we can never be spies—or guilty of treason in outwitting his enemies,” she said impetuously.
“Nay,” answered Sir Perseus, “but we may be hanged, my dear.”
Delia Featherstonehaugh flung up her head: “And we may give the King again his kingdom,” she smiled.
“God grant it,” answered her brother gently, “but before we go any further—before we hear Jerome’s news, before we make any more plans—I want you to see it as it is—Delia, we are staking our lives in the King’s service.”
“But you would not turn back!” she cried.
“Why, no,” he answered. “But you are not bound to follow my fortunes.”